


Vulnerable

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek A-Z Challenge [22]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Humiliation, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 04:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: Scott answered him, but Stiles didn’t hear him. He bowed his head, breathing hard, feeling a panic attack threatening. Why had Scott asked him if he was himself? Why would he be asking him something like that unless...Unless...“Stiles!”Derek was too close. He was way too close. He had both hands on Stiles’ cheeks, forcing him to look up at him. He looked worried, which was a weird expression to see on his face. Not that it didn’t happen, just that it was rarely directed towards Stiles.“Stiles, breathe.”





	Vulnerable

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Stiles let out a sharp exhalation of breath, his vision clearing and eyes shifting to regard all of the individuals hovering over him. He stared back into their worried faces, feeling confusion setting in. When he tried to move his hands, he found he couldn’t manage it and looked down to see they were tied to the chair with rope.

Now that he looked down and saw how raw his wrists were, they began to ache, as if he’d been tugging at them to get free. He didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here, why he was tied to the chair, what was happening.

“Stiles?”

He looked up at Scott, seeing how terrified he looked. His eyes flickered to what his friend was holding, some kind of old-looking book, with weird symbols on the front. Derek was beside him holding what looked like a flask. The others were hovering behind them, looking worried but unwilling to come closer.

“What’s going on?” he asked slowly, eying them all and tugging at his restrained wrists. It made the rope dig in harder and he winced. “What’s happening?”

“Stiles, is it you?”

The words made a lead weight drop into the pit of his stomach and he stared at Scott, horrified. “What? What did you say?”

Scott answered him, but Stiles didn’t hear him. He bowed his head, breathing hard, feeling a panic attack threatening. Why had Scott asked him if he was himself? Why would he be asking him something like that unless...

Unless...

“Stiles!”

Derek was too close. He was way too close. He had both hands on Stiles’ cheeks, forcing him to look up at him. He looked worried, which was a weird expression to see on his face. Not that it didn’t happen, just that it was rarely directed towards Stiles.

“Stiles, breathe.”

He didn’t think he could. He felt like his lungs were closing up, and the more he tried to inhale, the less he managed to get into them. Derek’s hands were warm on his face, eyes intense and focussed on him, slow breath exhaling against his skin. He realized that Derek was trying to force him to match his breathing. It took a few tries, but he eventually managed it, breathing coming out more naturally, panic attack still threatening but less so than a moment ago.

Malia was suddenly dumping water on his head. That had Derek turning to snarl at her angrily.

“What? I was just making sure it was him.” She shrugged indifferently, closing the flask she held.

That was when Stiles realized he was wet. Well, evidently, since Malia had just dumped water on his head, but it was more than that. His shirt had patches of wetness and his pants showed various areas that were darker than others, suggesting water had fallen there, too.

“What happened?” he asked quietly. Derek was still crouched in front of him, holding his face. It was comforting. Grounding.

“What do you remember?” Scott asked, voice tentative.

Stiles thought for a moment, then let out another sharp exhale, feelings his eyes burning, tears threatening to form. “Nothing,” he whispered. “I remember nothing. I just... I had dinner with my dad. I got in the Jeep to go to Scott’s. That’s it.”

He didn’t miss the look Derek and Scott shared at those words. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“Stiles,” Scott sounded apologetic when he continued, “that was three weeks ago.”

He couldn’t stop it. Hearing those words, his brain went back to the lost time with the Nogitsune, the blackouts, the horrible things that had happened.

Stiles turned his face away from Derek and threw up. Vomit hit the floor with a splatter, splashing onto his shoes as well as Derek’s. He expected the wolf to stand and move away, but he didn’t. He stood, but only so he could shift to Stiles’ other side and rub his back.

Scott was untying the rope from his wrists, pain sparking through the raw skin briefly before dissipating. Stiles didn’t move once his wrists were freed, he just shifted so he could lean over the side of the chair better and throw up some more.

No one said anything, they just stood there while Scott hovered awkwardly and Derek rubbed his back.

He knew what they were thinking. What they had to be thinking. It was all Stiles could think about.

The Nogitsune. It was just like the Nogitsune. Had it come back for him? Intent on destroying him once and for all?

“What happened?” he asked roughly once the heaving had stopped, needing an explanation.

No one spoke for a few seconds, making the panic rise once more. Derek seemed to recognize this because his hand moved up to the back of his neck and squeezed.

“It was a demon,” he said, a low grumble to his voice. “It needed a host.”

Stiles wished they would all go away so he could sit there, sobbing and throwing up, in peace. He hated having an audience. Hated how vulnerable he felt in that moment.

A demon. A demon had taken over. Just like the Nogitsune. A demon had gotten inside him, controlled him, made him do things he didn’t want to do. Had never even _thought_  of doing.

“How many?” he asked quietly, knowing they would understand.

“Nobody got hurt,” Scott blurted out quickly, almost too eager to deliver this news. “We knew something was wrong with you early last week, and you’ve been down here ever since. We didn’t know how to get it out of you. It took longer than we meant it to.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” He knew something had happened, otherwise they wouldn’t all look so nervous.

“Nothing happened,” Derek said before Scott could get any words out. “It’s fine.”

Stiles was still mostly bent over, but he turned his head to look at Derek, not believing a word out of his mouth. Whatever expression he made must’ve broken him somehow because Derek’s own features softened and he looked almost pained to speak.

“It said things.”

“Things?”

“About you,” Scott admitted quietly. “About how you felt.” He winced, scratching at the back of his neck. “It said you hated me for a while after I became a Werewolf, because you were jealous. It said you never forgave Lydia for choosing Jackson over you.”

An awkward pause before he continued.

“It said you were in love with Derek.”

Stiles had never felt more horrified and humiliated in his entire life, and considering his life, that was saying something. He was glad Derek was behind him, because he didn’t want to look at him anymore. He just stared down at the vomit on the floor, feeling self-hatred beginning to rise and wishing the demon had just consumed him.

“Take me home,” Stiles said quietly, avoiding looking at Derek and holding a hand out to Scott.

His best friend grabbed it and helped haul him to his feet, supporting his weight. Stiles felt weak, like he hadn’t eaten or slept in days. Maybe he hadn’t, who knew?

“Stiles,” Derek touched his arm but he pulled it away.

“Don’t,” he whispered, the vulnerability returning full force. “Just—don’t.”

He let Scott drag him out of the loft and down to the Jeep. Stiles really hoped things were done possessing him.

He really didn’t know how much more he could handle.

**END.**

 


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